


Reverse

by LollyDragon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Destiel - Freeform, Dimension Travel, M/M, Supernatural AU - Freeform, destiel au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 12:50:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13998714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LollyDragon/pseuds/LollyDragon
Summary: Dean Winchester is an ordinary man living an ordinary life. But a feeling in the pit of his stomach tells him there's something missing. When he starts hallucinating places he's never been and dreaming memories he hasn't had, there isn't much he can do but pretend everything's okay. But what happens if he passes out and ends up precisely where he's been imagining? Surely it's still a dream, right?





	1. Empty

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by Season 2 Episode 20 where the Djinn kept Dean in a perfect alternate reality where monsters weren't real and Sam and Jessica were still together. I thought it'd be a cool idea to try the same thing, but opposite. What if alternate Dean was whisked into the world of Supernatural? I hope you like it, enjoy!

Dean had a very strong outlook on life. He always believed it was best compared to one of those cheap hotel pies you get from room service when you've thoroughly given up on yourself. A golden crust that seems perfect and delicious, but dig a little deeper and take a bite and all you get is the hard disappointing truth of a stale, cold inside. At this moment Dean gazed outside his car window and stared at the plethora of people scrambling through the grocery's laggy glass doors, desperate to get their hands on some last-minute Thanksgiving ingredients. He sighed to himself as he watched them and slapped the back of phone mindlessly on his leg.  
_When did things get like this?_  
A group of energetic young boys accompanied by a busty older woman yelled at them to keep their hands away from the candy. That no more chocolate was going to be stolen on her watch. Not now that there father was out of the picture.  
_He was happy, wasn't he?_  
A young beautiful-looking couple scootched passed the woman and her children and hugged each other close, smiling and gazing into each others eyes like they were their everything.  
Dean leant back in his seat and rubbed the bridge of his nose for a moment before jutting open the Impala door and lifting himself up and out into the brisk fall air. How beautiful the world around him was. So orange and bright. He shook his head and laughed under his breath, twirling his car keys around his finger.  
_Yeah, I'm happy._ He assured himself. _Why wouldn't I be?_

He picked out a bunch of weird-looking, weird-smelling vegetables and ticked them off his neatly written grocery list one by one. _Pumpkin Spice._ That's what it said next on the list – written in Carmen's cute and swirly handwriting. Dean squinted at the words and rolled his eyes.  
_Pumpkin spice,_ he repeated in his head.  
A little girl with a bright blue dress rushed passed him, giggling and smiling. Dean smiled back and watched as a young boy about the same age rushed after her, giggling just as loud. He wore a green sweater two sized too big and the material billowed behind him as he tagged the girl and darted away. Dean shook his head again and focused on the shelf in front of him.  
_Pumpkin spice, pumpkin spice, pumpkin spice._  
_Ahah!_  
He grabbed the box and nodded at it triumphantly, tossing it lightly into his basket. Then a strange feeling suddenly washed over him. Like a string of barbed wire twisting around his chest. The floor rolled underneath him and suddenly appeared old and dark. Sprigs of grass coiled from the grouting and dirt layered his boots. He blinked and it was gone.  
Like the first couple of moments of deep existential confusion you feel when waking up from a long night of drinking, Dean paused and didn't know where he was – _who_ he was. Or that he even existed. The girl in the bright blue dress skipped back passed and Dean jerked his head around at the shelf – worrying he was starting to look strange.  
_I'm at the grocery store?_ He told himself. _Right. I remember._ He cleared his throat and checked around, making sure no one was looking at him funny. They weren't. Which meant nothing weird had just happened to anyone else. Which also meant there was nothing to be freaked out about.  
_Yup, everything is fine. Whatever that was just then – probably normal._

Dean hopped back inside his car, tossed his bag of groceries to the seat beside him, and turned on the ignition. For a moment he held tightly onto the steering wheel and glared out at the parking lot. His brow was furrowed and his mouth was slightly parted, trying to imagine the world as he had seen it before. But as he tried to focus the images quickly left him and all he could remember was grass. Dirty, shrouded grass.  
When he got home, Carmen greeted him in the kitchen with a hug and a kiss. She always smelled so nice and flowery and Dean assumed she must have just taken a bath from the way her hair was slightly damp at the ends.  
“I just got a call from your parents,” she said.  
Dean nodded as he walked and placed the bag with the vegetables and spice and whatever all that other crap was down on the kitchen table.  
“They said they'd be over by six tomorrow, that okay with you?”  
Dean nodded again and Carmen gave him a doubtful squint from over her shoulder.  
“What's wrong?” she asked, crossing her arms like she always did when she wanted answers.  
Dean opened the fridge door and pulled out a beer, twisting open the tab with his plaid shirt. “What?” he said back. “Nothings wrong.”  
Carmen glared at him with sceptical eyes and pouted her mouth.  
“Seriously,” Dean exaggerated and held up his hands defensively.  
“I thought you were excited about seeing your family again?”  
“I am! Obviously.” He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her lightly off the ground. She weighed practically nothing and she felt soft and warm in his arms. “Seriously, I'm fine.”  
Carmen smiled as she looked down into his green eyes and tilted her head forward until it was resting on Dean's. “Okay, so long as you're happy.”  
Dean laughed and placed her back down, careful not to spill his drink in the process. His eyebrow twitched for a moment and he stared solemnly at the floor as Carmen skipped towards the sink.  
_Happy?_ he heard his mind say again. _Yes_. He retorted back sternly. _Happy, you're happy. You have the perfect life, of course you're happy! Shut it!_

Later that night, when both of them had retired to bed, Dean found himself staring up at the ceiling with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. A feeling he couldn't identify.  
Sadness? Sounded about right, but that wasn't it.  
What about anger? No.  
Guilt? Closer.  
The feeling bubbled against his chest and gurgled inside his stomach. It almost felt like a wanting – _an emptiness_  – that told him something was off. It got later and later into the night and he started to feel his eyes grow heavy with exhaustion before the inevitable grip of sleep got to him.  
Darkness surrounded his dreams. A darkness so deep and so dark that it felt like it went on forever. Dean waded through the blackness, felt the cold of it grip him tight and the emptiness of it engulf him. Something hard glided across the tip of his foot and he slowly floated to a solid surface. His head hurt behind his eyes as he tried to focus on the nothingness in front of him. Cautiously, he took a step forward. The weightlessness of his body began to disappear and he could feel his limbs again. He took another step forward.  
Then another.  
Then something stopped him.  
A voice. His. But younger.  
_“Dad's on a hunting trip. And he hasn't been home in a few days.”_  
He heard a loud bang and a flash of light erupted from the ashy depths in front of him. He heard more voices, they sounded hushed but clear. _“Rock salts,”_ someone clarified, someone that sounded an awful lot like Sam. Another flash of light spun around the void and the cold surface of the ground beneath Dean vibrated uncomfortably. Music echoed from somewhere he couldn't identify and made him nervous. _“~It was the heat of the moment! Telling me what your heart meant!~”_ Dean shook his head and blinked before a rapid succession of voices hammered through the air and vibrated across the ground. He could only catch a few sentences before a deep pain streamed across his mind.  
_“Hello, boys.”_  
_“Gay love can pierce the vai-”_  
_“Oh, I'm sorry, you have me confused with the other angel-”_  
_“Sammy!”_  
_“Idjits.”_  
His mind began to swirl around inside his head and a light from somewhere far away started to grow and grow. The darkness around him fizzled and cracked and a blue cloud spread around him like a lake of water, cutting through the nothingness and drowning out the emptiness.  
He closed his eyes and felt a bead of cold sweat drip down his forehead. When he opened his eyes again he couldn't move. He was frozen. Stiff.  
And not in the good way.  
The darkness was gone. And he was in a room – no, _a barn_. He tried to turn his head, but couldn't. The lights began to pop and glass shattered to the floor along with sparks of light. The barn door cracked open and the shape of a man walked in. Dean felt his body moving, lifting a shot gun and firing it. But he wasn't in charge anymore.  
He blinked.  
There was a gross piercing sound as the tip of a blade sunk into a trench-coated torso in front of him and a wave of horror shot true his body, but he wasn't sure why. He wanted to close his eyes and run away, but his body stayed where it was.  
It was like he was reliving a memory. But a memory that didn't belong to him.  
He heard a thud and saw the body of an oldish man wearing a roughened cap collapse onto the ground.  
_Bobby?_ He thought. _From Dad's mechanic shop?_  
His body's eyes began to pan up – passed a pair of black pants, a white shirt and an askew blue tie. All the way up until he saw…  
Nothing.  
He woke up. Sweat drenching his shirt and dampening his hair. His hands flung to his face, thankful now to be able to move them, and he rubbed his eyes frantically.  
“What the hell!?” he mumbled feverishly.  
Carmen sat up and placed a tentative arm around his shoulder. “Dean, honey, are you okay?” she asked, sleepily.  
Dean scrunched his hands into fists and bit hard onto his lip. _Think, think, think!_ He told himself. _Don't forget!_ His jaw tightened as small fragments of his dream cascaded through his mind and quickly disappeared.  
“Don't forget!” he yelled aloud.  
“Don't forget what?” Carmen replied. She sounded worried and nervous and held tightly onto his shoulders.  
_Blue._ He remembered. _A bright, blinding blue. As if a lake and the sky had a secret magical lovechild._ He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before collapsing back onto the bed.  
Carmen stayed sat up and glared worryingly into Dean's eyes. “What was all that about?” she asked.  
Dean's eyes were heavy and he felt like crap. “Nightmare,” he replied.  
“A nightmare?” she didn't sound convinced.  
He grunted a yes.  
“What was it you had to remember?”  
“I don't remember.”  
She frowned and laid down cautiously beside him. “Must have been some nightmare.”  
Dean nodded and closed his eyes. Strange images lingered in his head, but he didn't know what they meant. There was a man – _or something_. But he couldn't remember what he looked like. What he sounded like. And he _had_ said something to him before he woke up. But what was it?  
“You think you're gonna be okay?” asked Carmen.  
Dean nodded again. “Yeah, I'm fine.”  
She looked softly at him and breathed quietly through her nose and Dean could tell she wanted answers. But answers he didn't have, to questions he didn't know. He felt the warm comforting feel of her body slide lovingly against his and he wrapped his arms around her.  
“I know you say you're fine, but I'm gonna hold onto you until you fall asleep, understood?” she said.  
Dean saw no point protesting and laughed quietly. “Understood,” he replied.  
Quickly enough Dean's eyes started to grow heavy and he found himself conflicted. He didn't want to go back to sleep – to feel like that again, not being able to move, not knowing where he was or how he got there. Well, he wasn't insane. He knew it wasn't _real._ But at the same time, it _felt_ real. He saw himself standing with Bobby, felt himself talking and feeling, but it wasn't _him_. And as much as he didn't want to experience that again, he felt he needed to go back. Who was that man in the trench coat? Why would his mind imagine such disturbing, crazy, ridiculous things?  
Carmen's grip began to loosen around Dean's chest as she quietly drifted off to sleep. “Goodnight, Dean,” she mumbled sleepily.  
“Goodnight, Cas,” Dean replied.


	2. Slightly Less Empty

Kansas played on the radio. Dean turned it up and took a handful of chips from a bowl Carmen had set up at the dining table.  
“Uh-uh-uh!” she scolded him. “Not until your family gets here.”  
Dean groaned and begrudgingly dropped the chips back in their bowl. “I'm starving,” he argued.  
“They're almost here, Mr. Impatient.”  
Dean rolled his eyes and sneakily took a chip as Carmen bent down to open the oven.  
“I heard that,” she told him.  
The doorbell rang and a smile spread across Dean's face. Partly because he could see his family, and partly because now he could eat. He swung open the door and saw his mum and dad each holding a plate of something covered with tinfoil. The air outside was cold and a few leaves crunched against the pavement as they were picked up by the wind.  
“Sammy's right behind us,” said Mary.  
Dean smiled and stood aside. “Come on in.”  
John patted him on the back and cleaned his boots off on the matt inside while Mary struggled to hold onto her crockery as she removed her jacket.  
“Let me help you with that, mum.”  
“Its okay, Dean, I got it.”  
John cleared his throat and smiled. “So, where's the missus?” he said.  
Dean lifted his head to the kitchen and nodded. “About to serve pie, I think.”  
“A woman after my own heart,” John laughed.  
Mary elbowed him in the shoulder and they both walked off chuckling.  
Dean held onto the open door and closed his eyes, listening to the outside world. He could hear the wind whistle and rustle the dried leaves, the faint echoes of children playing and laughing in the distance, the quiet rumble of a car pulling up and stopping. He opened his eyes and saw a 1978 Lincoln Continental park behind his parents car. He eyed it sceptically for a moment before the familiar sight of Sam's long, luscious locks emerged from the driver's seat and bob their way towards him.  
“Sammy!” Dean called out with open arms.  
Sam smiled back and hugged him. “Mum and dad inside?” he asked.  
“Yeah.”  
Dean frowned at the car and leant back. “What is that monstrosity?”  
Sam looked over his shoulders and laughed. “That's my car, Dean.”  
“It's awful.”  
“Well, I have to drive something until my regular gets fixed.”  
Dean sighed and patted Sam's shoulder. “Ahh, so its temporary! Thank Chuck for that.”  
“Chuck?” Sam scrunched up his face and gave Dean a weird side look.  
“What?”  
“Whose 'Chuck'?”  
Dean squinted and looked at the roof, not sure himself and wondering why he had said that.  
“Whatever. I'm starving, are you going to let me inside or what?”  
Dean paused for a moment. He glared back at the car for a split second before shaking his head and stepping inside. “Yeah, right,” he laughed. As he closed the door he gave the 1978 Lincoln Continental one final fleeting look and breathed in heavily. He felt strange again. Weird. Queer to his core and uncomfortable. He swallowed a dry lump of nothing and followed his brother to the dining room.  
“How are you mum,” said Sam, hugging Mary tightly and looming over her like some kind of gigantic BFG.  
“All good here, Sam,” said Mary.  
“Dad?”  
John nodded in response and shook Sam's hand and patted him on the shoulder.  
Sam leant back with a vague half-smile and placed a bottle of wine on the table. “Where's Carmen?”  
They all looked over to Dean who smiled sheepishly and bobbed his head up and down. “I'll see if she's finished cooking.”  
_God, I hope so._ He thought.  
Carmen had her apron on and a pair of mittens ready by her side. When she heard Dean enter she looked over to him and grinned her perfect, pretty grin. “Everyone here?” she asked.  
“They're all in the dining room.”  
“Perfect.”  
As Dean stared at her, he wondered how different his life could be and how lucky he was. So then why was it that it felt wrong? Why did he feel this way? He cleared his throat and told his brain to shut the hell up.  
_You're happy!_ He said. _You have no reason to be sad._  
He smiled at her and stepped closer. “Need any help?'  
“Well you can take these chips out there if you'd like. The pie's almost ready, but I'll let it cool off while we have the turkey.”  
“You got it.”  
He grabbed the bowl and headed back to the dining room.  
“Nicely done, Sam,” Dean heard his father say as he walked into the room. Sam smiled up at him with his brown eyes and they seemed cheerful and brimming.  
_Eyes,_ Dean thought. _The colour blue. They were blue eyes._  
“Did you hear that, Dean,” he heard his father repeat. “Sam's looking at getting a promotion soon.”  
He placed the bowls down and swung a chair in front of him. Something cold gripped his chest and his sense of touch and smell and taste felt off. “Really?” he managed to say. “Sammy, that's great!”  
Sam grinned and looked down, scratching the back of his neck. “Its nothing, really.”  
“You bashful son of a bitch, you know you deserve this.” Dean's heart started to beat faster and his mind started to feel floaty again. He stood up quickly and grabbed hold of Sam's jacket and pulled him up with him. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”  
Sam looked at him with a puzzled face, but nodded and let his brother lead him to the hallway. “Dude, what's wrong?” he said. “Is this about my promotion?”  
“What? No,” Dean answered quickly. His chest started to slow down and his mind became stable again. “Sam, can I ask you something.”  
“Yeah, Dean, of course.”  
He nodded and rubbed his jaw with his fingers. “Did you like, have any weird dreams last night?”  
Sam's head tilted back. “Dreams? Like what?”  
Dean shrugged his shoulders and glared over Sam's back to the front door – feeling the presence of the Lincoln push against the back of his mind. “I dunno. Just like, weird stuff. Like voices or people you don't know, or Bobby Singer, or… Something.”  
“Bobby Singer? Whose that?”  
“You know, that guy who works with dad.”  
Sam blinked. “You had a dream about a guy dad works with..?”  
Dean leant back and pouted his mouth at his brother, glaring up at him with his eyes narrowed. “Not like that, you creep. I just mean... Did you have any unusual dreams last night?”  
Sam looked to the side and breathed in deeply, letting it out slowly as he shook his head and shrugged. “Sorry, Dean. I don't think so.”  
Dean's eyes closed and he lowered his head to the floor. _What was I thinking,_ he thought. _Of course he didn't have the same dream as you._ He rubbed the side of his forehead and felt Sam staring down at him without having to look up.  
“Are you okay, Dean?” he asked. “Should I be worried?”  
Dean blinked a few times and looked up with a shrug of his shoulders. “Yeah, I'm fine,” he said. “I just had this really weird dream last night, but it doesn't matter.”  
“Yeah, I bet it was weird.” Sam let out a soft, discrete chuckle.  
Dean glared at him again.

As Carmen ignited the stove, an acidic taste pinched Dean's tongue and he felt like he was going to be sick. The flames licked around the bottom of the pan and flicked a multitude of colours. His head went hazy and he felt faint. Something about the fire was making him light-headed. His knees buckled beneath him and he fell to the side – just propping his arm out at the last second to catch himself on the edge of the kitchen table. Carmen glanced back at the noise and rushed towards him.  
“Dean, _Dean,_ are you okay?” she yelled.  
Her worlds sounded slow and muffled and as he blinked the room around him slowed down too. His eyes started to cross and he closed them tightly.  
He opened them again and his heart stopped.  
His clothes were dirty and his feet lightly sunk into the cold wet ground beneath him. There was nothing around him but trees and dirt. The grass coiling around his boots were dark and ashy. _This is what I saw at the grocery store,_ he remembered. He looked down and noticed a thick blade clasped between his fingers, it felt heavy and looked threatening.  
Something snapped behind him. A twig.  
He spun around and something lunged at him with their mouth open wide, revealing layers of thick, shark-like teeth. It screamed as it flung itself towards him and Dean lifted his arms in defence, closing his eyes and grunting in fear.  
_“Benny!”_ he found himself yelling.  
“Dean? _Dean?_ ” he heard back.  
He lifted his head and saw Carmen hovering over him with one of her hands on his shoulder. Her eyes were wide and she looked scared. “Dean?” she said again.  
He cleared his throat and shook his head, slowly pushing himself off the ground. He palmed the tiled floor and looked at it again, making sure the grass and dirt was gone.  
“What just happened?” asked Carmen, now sounding just as angry as she was worried.  
Dean smirked and laughed. He thought if he acted like nothing had just happened, no one would worry. Maybe he'd be able to convince himself as well. “Sorry,” he laughed.  
Carmen's jaw tightened and she scowled at him. _“'Sorry'?”_ she repeated. “What just happened, Dean?”  
He shrugged. “Probably not enough food. You wouldn't let me get my snack on, after all.”  
She shook her head with grave seriousness and folded her arms. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”  
Dean quickly shook his head and cleared his throat. “No.” He saw the scared look in Carmen's eyes and sighed deeply. “Look, I'll just go splash some water on my face and I'll be fine. It's probably a bit of dehydration or somethin'.” He glanced over to the dining room. “Just don't mention this to them okay? I don't want anyone else worrying about me.”  
Carmen loosened her arms and nodded softly. “Okay,” she agreed with a long sigh. “But if anything else happens, we're going straight to the hospital, okay? Thanksgiving or no Thanksgiving.”  
“Deal.”

He turned on the cold water and gazed solemnly into his eyes from the mirror. _Where's the angel?_ His mind echoed. He breathed heavily and filled his hands with water, splashing it violently onto his face. Something was wrong with him. He couldn't hide it anymore. He was seeing things. Hearing things. _Feeling_ things that weren't there. And he didn't know why. Or how to stop it.  
Waves and waves of something painful and guttural streamed through his body. He couldn't understand it but he wanted to cry. He looked back up at the mirror and began to breath sharply – knowing each breath was shorter than the last.  
“My name is Dean Winchester,” he said to his reflection. “Sam Winchester is my brother. Mary Winchester is my mum...” he stopped. Someone was missing. He searched his eyes for the answer and ground his teeth when he couldn't find it.  
_Breath._ He told himself. _Breath._  
He heard his dad yell from he dining room. “Turn the music up, Carmen. I love this song.”  
Music from the radio began to drum through his ears and the strumming of a guitar punched him in the chest like a painful memory.  
_~Carry on my wayward son~_  
_Breath. Breath! Breath!!_  
His jaw hurt with the pressure he was placing on it and the noise of his teeth coarsely rubbing against each other boomed inside his head.  
_~There'll be peace when you are done~_  
He could feel his heart beat through his shirt and unfamiliar noises flooded his mind. Images streamed across his eyes like a blinding succession of silent jump-scares. He covered his ears and clenched his eyes shut.  
_~Don't you cry no more~_  
He screamed and head-butted his reflection as hard as he could.  
Blood trickled hotly down his face but the images didn't stop. Clips of Sam dying over and over again. His mother burning on the ceiling. People he didn't recognise being stabbed, shot and drowned. _Death, death, death._  
He smashed his head back into the mirror.  
Then again.  
And again, and again, and again until his head felt bruised and battered and blood flecked the walls around him and dripped into the white sink below.  
He threw himself back and landed bluntly on the cold bathroom floor. He heard Sam and his parents call frantically after him. Blood stung his eyes as he painfully pried them open and looked up. Sam rushed towards him closely followed by Carmen and his parents.  
His mind dipped in and out of reality and he started to see Sam differently. His formal lawyer suit was gone and replaced with several layers of plaid. He loomed over him worryingly and Carmen stepped up behind him. But now she looked different too. Now she had short black hair, a pale trench coat, askew blue tie and stubble. Dean grunted with pain and felt tears prick his eyes and he tried to will them away with manly force.  
Carmen looked down at him and cocked her head to the side, narrowing her eyes ever-so-slightly. “What's the matter? You don't think you deserve to be saved?” she said, her voice now low and gruff.  
Tears streamed down his face and mixed with the blood, painting his cheeks and neck a pale shade of red. He breathed in painfully and passed out.


	3. American Werewolf in America

When Dean awoke on an unfamiliar bed wearing a new set of clothes, it only freaked him out a little. He gazed around the room sceptically and slowly planted his feet on the floor. Empty bottles of whiskey and beer littered the ground around him and he assumed that must be what was causing his dizziness. He stood up and balanced himself on a set of wooden drawers.  
Something felt very claustrophobic about the room he was in. It seemed especially shut-in and isolated and he wasn't sure why at first. There was a hallway that lead through the building and he followed it to a wide room with thick bookshelves and a set of long tables.  
“What the hell..?” he mumbled to himself.  
There were no windows and Dean realised that was why the place felt so uncomfortable. _I must be underground,_ he thought. He scratched his head and tried to remember how he got there. _I remember everyone coming over for Thanksgiving… Carmen was making pie._  
He looked up at the fancy lights lining the roof and casting a sepia gleam over the tables. The place looked old but pristine.  
_Sam got a promotion at his law firm… Dad was listening to Kansas…_  
He cleared his throat cautiously. “Hello?” he whispered – quickly darting his eyes around the room and raising a wary eyebrow. “Hello?” he repeated, this time with more conviction.  
He heard footsteps behind him.  
“So get this,” began Sam.  
Dean swung around to face him and stared at him from the side.  
“A couple in Oregon went missing a few days ago and have just turned up with, you guessed it, their hearts ripped out.”  
Dean gagged.  
Sam gave him a short puzzled frown before continuing. “So what do we think, werewolf?”  
Dean tilted his head forward with his mouth open but no words came out of them.  
Sam placed a laptop down on one of the long tables and sat down behind it. “Dude, you okay?” he asked, giving his brother a weird look – much like the one he had flashed at dinner.  
_I kept hearing voices, and seeing things… Then I…_  
Dean whipped his hand to his forehead and felt around for blood, a cut – _something_. He examined his fingers and saw nothing. His eyes darted around the floor then squinted up at the ceiling. “Where am I?” he asked.  
Sam leant forward and closed his laptop. “How much whiskey did you have last night?” he laughed.  
Dean fondled the soft tartan flannel he now wore and eyed it confusedly. “None.”  
“None? That doesn't seem like you.”  
“It doesn't?”  
Sam leant back and cleared his throat. Dean stared at him and wondered why he now looked so different. It wasn't just the clothes, but something else – Sam's whole expression looked heavier, sadder. Something in his little brother's eyes loomed darkly and, although having the faint bounce of hope, seemed exhausted and pained. Dean watched him closely as Sam pushed off his seat and over to a duffel bag laying by the second table.  
“So, you coming?” Sam asked.  
Dean stepped back and furrowed his eyebrows with confusion. “Where?” he replied.  
“Oregon, Dean. You know – the whole werewolf problem.”  
_I'm dreaming._ Dean decided. _That's the only explanation. This is a coma and I'm dreaming._  
He smiled at his brother and bobbed his head. “Yeah, alright,” he said. “I'm game.” He laughed to himself and shrugged his shoulders. _Why not? If I'm dying I might as well go on some kickass adventure._ He walked over to the set of stairs which lead, presumingly, to the outside.  
Sam cleared his throat. “Aren't you forgetting something?”  
Dean looked over to him and blinked.  
He shook his head and zipped open the duffel bag, revealing a sharp mound of silver knives and other goodies.  
Dean grinned as he skipped over towards them. _“Riiiigh,”_ he said, doing a terrible job at sounding anything but suspicious. He picked up one of the knives, spun it around the palm of his hand and gave Sam a self-congratulatory smirk when he didn't drop it.  
“Seriously, lay off the whiskey,” Sam told him after a moment of awkward silence.

The air was crisp and cool and held a pleasant rainy aroma. Dean smiled and laughed and couldn't ignore the bubbles of happy exhilaration jumping around his stomach.  
He sped down the road in a 67 Chevy Impala, burning the tires loudly across the asphalt and slapping the steering wheel with gusto like he didn't have a care in the world – which he didn't. _Can't die in a dream,_ he told himself.  
“Dean, will you slow down?” Sam said, gripping the edge of his seat tightly.  
“Come on, Sammy, why not have a little fun?”  
“You're gonna get us killed.”  
Dean smirked.  
A small gas station appeared in the distance, seeping into view from behind the cloudy American fog. Dean sped up to it and jerked the wheel to the left, hitting the breaks fast and pulling us close to a pair of cute blonde women hanging out beside a shiny BMW. He rolled down the window and winked at them while Sam caught his breath in the passengers seat.  
“Ladies,” he grinned.  
One of the women lowered her chin and blew a large pink bubble until it popped, then winked back. Dean smiled and turned to his brother. “Flirting doesn't count as cheating when you're in a coma, right?” he asked.  
Sam blinked and glared at Dean with vague contempt in his eyes before his expression quickly changed to confusion. “What?” he said.  
Dean laughed and unbuckled his seat. “Doesn't matter.”  
They both swung open their doors and hopped out in their formal FBI attire. Dean patted his blue tie and wiped away some imaginary dust from his shoulder. He leant on the bonnet of the Impala and smiled over to his brother.  
“I always wanted this car,” he said, grinning like a soft little bunny.  
Sam glanced warily at him for a moment but decided to ignore him.  
“So what are we doing here?” Dean continued.  
“This is where the couple was found.”  
“You mean the _werewolf_ victims?”  
Sam nodded.  
So Dean nodded and leant back up, straightening out the crinkles in his tie. As he looked down at it he paused and tilted his head. “Hey,” he said, “why is this tie making me feel weird?”  
Sam's eyebrows shot up and he let out a quiet uncomfortable sigh. “Uhh, I don't know, Dean,” he replied.  
_Blue._ He tilted his head a little further before shrugging his shoulders and stepping over towards the gas station. They swiped open with a little _'ding-dong'_ and the comforting warmth from a heater welcomed them inside. Sam glanced up at a small camera in the corner of the room and elbowed Dean gently, gesturing towards it. Dean nodded and made a face as if he they were sharing some discrete inside joke in some crappy 80s cop drama.  
A tall man with a glorious hipster beard smiled at them with his elbows resting on the counter. He had a pencil tucked through the top of his ear and the cheeriest face Dean had ever seen. “Gentlemen,” the man said.  
Sam pulled out his fancy but fake FBI badge and flashed it towards him for a brief moment. Dean did the same and couldn't help giggle quietly. Pretending to be an FBI agent felt so wrong, but so right.  
“Oh, hey,” the man leant back up and bobbed his head lightly up and down. “This about that couple?” He sounded soft and understanding.  
“We're gonna need to see those surveillance tapes, Mr..?” began Sam, gesturing at the cameras.  
“Jimmy,” the man replied. “You can just call me Jimmy.”  
Dean smiled but he wasn't sure why and Sam nodded, _“Jimmy,”_ he continued. “Do you have a back room where we can watch them?”  
Jimmy clasped his hands together and pointed at Sam with his long fingers. “Than we do, sir,” he said. “Chloe usually deals with all the technical stuff though, so you're gonna wanna talk to her.”  
A door labelled _'staff only'_ swung open from behind him and a short girl with wavy red hair walked out carrying an armful of chip packets. “Oh, hello,” she chirped as she noticed the brothers. She dumped the chips on the bench and began stacking them onto a small shelf behind the counter.  
“Chloe, these guys are from the FBI,” said Jimmy. “Could you go show them the tapes from when that couple was found?”  
Dean eyed the back of the girl closely. Her hair bounced up and down as she lifted her arms to reach the shelving. He squinted and looked coldly to the side, feeling a mishmash of emotions and picturing a woman he had never seen before.  
“Why am I thinking about Scotland?” he whispered to Sam. “And whose Rowena?”  
“Now's not the time, Dean,” Sam whispered back sternly.  
“The surveillance tapes?” Chloe said. “I thought you guys'd have a copy down at head quarters or whatever.”  
Dean froze and gave Sam a grave look, his eyes screamed _'she's onto us'_ and Sam flashed him a _'what's wrong with you today?'_ glare.  
“Right, we're just fact-checking and sometimes we find it helps to get a look at the original tape while on the premises.”  
Dean let out an impressed sigh and smiled proudly. Chloe turned back around to them and nodded brightly. As she started to speak Dean noticed a rack of newspapers to his left and picked one up idly, checking the date. It read the 24th of the 9th.  
“Is today the day after Thanksgiving?” he interrupted.  
Chloe paused and Jimmy chuckled under his breath, giving Dean a flirtatious smile.  
Sam slowly looked over at him with horror in his eyes and blinked hard. _“Detective Costello,”_ he warned.  
“What? I was just wondering,” Dean defended. “I mean damn – today's the _day after Thanksgiving._ My subconscious is consistent, I'm fricken' impressed.”  
“Is he okay?” asked Chloe.  
Sam lifted his head and quickly returned to smiling. “He's fine,” he said coolly. “Those tapes?”

The _'staff only'_ room felt cramped and muggy. Dean was thankful for the warmth but made a slightly disgusted face as his shoulder brushed against the head of a coarse mop propped up against the wall. A shiver went down his spine as he imagined what gross things that mop had previously cleaned up. He cleared his throat and eventually decided he should be helping out. _Can't have a kickass adventure just standing around,_ he reasoned.  
“So, this couple,” he began, following Sam and Chloe further into the room and deepening his voice. He assumed the stance of a 'bad cop'. Sam looked at him cautiously and Dean winked back assuredly. “Did you ever see them before they turned up dead?”  
Chloe bent down and rummaged through a set of neatly labelled tapes all lined up inside a dirty filing cabinet. “Yes, actually,” she answered, pulling out one of the tapes, then another. “I wasn't working the day they found the bodies, but like a week before I do remember seeing the two.”  
“Did they seem strange to you?” said Sam. “Or maybe you saw them talking to anyone suspicious?”  
Chloe frowned up at him and looked away, clearly fighting with whether to mention something or not. She breathed out heavily and stood up clutching the tapes tightly in her fingers. Her hair bounced and Dean found himself feeling that same conflicting feeling from before. “Its safe to talk to you, right?” she whispered.  
Dean and Sam both leant in and nodded.  
“I told this to the police when they first came round, but nothing came of it.”  
“We just want the truth, Chloe, that's all. What is said between us remains strictly confidential,” Sam told her.  
She bobbed her head softly, staring purposely into his eyes. “Well,” she started, “we were all working the day the couple first showed up.”  
_“All?”_ he interrupted. “Who else was working?”  
“There's only three of us here – its not that big a station. But the day the couple showed up, me, Jimmy, and our other co-worker, Gregg, were all here. Gregg and I were just doing the usual stuff, refilling stock and cleaning and whatever else, but,” she leant to the side and stared warily at the _'staff only'_ door before lowering her voice another pitch. “Jimmy was on the register, and when that girl and her boyfriend came up to pay for their gas, he seemed… Unusually nice.”  
Dean straightened his back and raised an eyebrow. “You're rapping on this guy for being _'too nice?_ '” he said, sounding unconvinced and slightly offended.  
Chloe lowered her head and shook it. “That's not it,” she pressed. “When I say nice, I don't just mean an extra cheery voice – he was like, _creepily obsessed with them._ ”  
“Obsessed?” Sam repeated.  
“Yeah. Like he wouldn't let them leave. He wanted to know how their day was, their week, _their entire life._ I mean, I didn't hear the whole conversation, but it just felt… weird to me. Strange.”  
Sam gave a soft nod of understanding and Dean let out a mumbled contentious laugh.  
“You don't think that's a little creepy?” she asked him. “He wouldn't let them leave, he just kept wanting to talk to them. They were clearly getting uncomfortable.”  
Sam flipped out his small official-looking notebook and jotted down a note or two. “Don't worry, we'll look into all possible suspects of this case.”  
Dean looked over his little brother's shoulder and peeked at what he had written down. It read: _'kale and spinach salad for lunch'._ He chuckled under his breath but tried not to draw attention.  
Chloe had a worried determined look on her face as she probably pondered on the sincerity of Sam's words. She lifted the tapes and presented it to them. “Here,” she said. “This is the tape from when they were found in the morning, and this one is from when they were getting gas the week before.”  
Sam thanked her and she walked out into the store front, most likely to do more chip stocking. There was only one chair in front of the monitor and Dean eyed it dominantly. He looked competitively at Sam before flinging himself at the small leather chair and landing awkwardly on the seat. He laughed triumphantly and stroked the armrests, feeling very proud of himself. The seat swivel slightly with his weight and rolled gently across the floor. Sam just ignored him and stepped up beside him to feed the monitor the tape.  
A hazy set of images appeared on the screen and Dean squinted to look at them. There were four sets of surveillance videos all in a grid, one of the main floor, one behind the counter, one by the front where the customer's pumped their cars with gas, and one behind the store of two large dumpsters, where the bodies were found.  
“Click that one there,” Sam told Dean, pointing at the video behind the counter.  
The video filled the screen and a relatively clear image of the two victims and the back of Jimmy's head played out silently on the monitor. There was a set of words and numbers at the bottom in a stiff font that read: 14/09 - - - 11:28am  
“So this is Jimmy talking to the couple,” said Sam, watching intently.  
“You really think Jimmy did it?” Dean asked.  
Sam shrugged and kept watching. “Probably not,” he admitted.  
Jimmy gestured casually with his hands as he spoke and the girl smiled kindly while her boyfriend gave Jimmy a cold look. There was no audio and they couldn't tell what was being said, but the couple did look vaguely uncomfortable. The man said something back and his girlfriend gave him a horrified look and shook her head, turning to Jimmy and saying something that looked like _“I'm so sorry.”_  
“What do you think he said?” Dean asked.  
Sam shrugged again. “Hey, do you see that?” He pointed at another man at the back of the store stacking milk cartons into a fridge and circled him with his finger. The man kept glancing towards the three of them with a strange expression on his face. Something between anger and concern. “That must be Gregg,” he added.  
Dean clicked a square around the man's face and brought up a larger image, making it more pixelated and grainy, but not as bad as it could have been. Dean mentally patted himself on the back and told himself that watching all those cop shows was useful for something, and not pointless like Carmen had sad it was.  
“He seem pissed to you?” he said, squinting at the fuzzy face of the man glaring back and forth from the counter.  
“Yeah, a little,” Sam agreed. He pulled out the tape and replaced it with the second one. “Go to the dumpster recording.”  
The two dumpsters appeared on screen and Dean sped up the footage until a shifty figure stepped into shot.  
“There-” said Sam.  
Dean paused the video and played it at normal speed. A tall man in a black hoodie, sunglasses, jeans and face mask swaggered into view, doing a good job of keeping his face away from the camera. He opened one of the dumpsters and peeked inside before disappearing off camera again.  
“What kinda douche wears sunglasses when its that dark out?” Dean quipped.  
Sam laughed back slightly and they both looked at each other for a moment before the man appeared again, this time holding the bloody corpse of the girl over his shoulder and dragging the man by the ankle behind him.  
“Jesus,” Dean mumbled, feeling a sudden surge of disgust and irrational fear float through his chest.  
_This is just a coma dream,_ he reminded himself, shaking the fear from his mind. _Its not real._  
The hooded man flung the woman of his shoulder into the bin and turned to the man. He adjusted a satchel bag around his shoulder before picking him up, almost effortlessly, then threw him in with his girlfriend and closed the lid behind them. He walked off, swiping his hands together like a job well done. There was nothing else on the camera until 6:30 in the morning when the local garbage man came to collect the rubbish and got a rather rude present instead.  
“Do you think that was Gregg?” said Sam.  
“Man, I dunno,” Dean replied. “Did it look like Jimmy?”  
“It could be either, they both have relatively the same build.”  
“Then we should go say hi to this Gregg guy then? Play a little game of 'good cop, bad cop'?”  
Sam leant back up and rolled his shoulders back, buttoning up his jacket in the process. He stared down at his brother as he swivelled in his seat to face him. He looked concerned but like he didn't want to bring up anything that could cause conflict.  
“What?” said Dean, cocking his head at him.  
“Nothing,” he said. “Lets go.”

Chloe had her hands full with newspapers and sat cross-legged on the floor, trying to identify which paper when in which rack. She looked up as she heard the sound of the door and smiled at the two detectives. Jimmy stood up and smiled brightly at Dean as he walked out.  
“Gentlemen,” he smiled, tilting his head forward.  
Dean nodded at him and smiled sheepishly while Sam walked up to Chloe.  
“Thanks for letting us use your staff room, we just have a few extra questions,” he asked her.  
She nodded and got to her feet, leaving the papers stacked against the rack. “What do you need to know.”  
“This Gregg guy,” said Dean, “where he at?”  
Chloe blinked and turned back to Sam. “You want to know Gregg's address? Why?”  
“Its a werewolf thing,” Dean added nonchalantly.  
Sam's entire face stiffened and his jaw visibly tightened. He looked over at his brother with pure horror in his eyes. His head shook ever-so-slightly but otherwise appeared paralysed. Chloe let out a quiet, awkward laugh through her nose, prompting Sam to face her again.  
“Don't mind Agent Costello,” he told her with a smile, “He isn't feeling himself today, our job can be quite stressful and he sometimes doesn't understand that not everyone gets his sense of humour. We just need to speak with him for some follow-up questions, that's all.”  
Chloe smiled back airily then spun around to Jimmy and the counter. “I'll just go get the book we keep the employees addresses in,” she said.  
With her back facing them, Sam took the opportunity to nudge Dean in the arm and raised his shoulders at him – searching for a reason why he'd be acting so weird. Dean just smirked and patted him on the back, beaming like an excited child.


End file.
